Life of a Grunt
by Befuddler
Summary: This is a short story following a "Grunt" from the game Titanfall. (Not a series, sorry)


Life of a Grunt

I signed up. Yeah I did. The IMC are a bunch of monsters, killing off civilians. I mean what the hell, right? Their motto is, "Today's civilians are tomorrow's rebel militia." Well if they treat us like enemies, that's exactly what we're gonna be in order to survive! How dare they…

I was there, at one of the very first massacres. My family and I never agreed with the IMC so we…you know…left. Is that so traitorous? Or are our freedoms just as nonexistent as the militia say they are? But we didn't do anything to hurt anyone. We were staying out of this fight. We just wanted to live our lives in peace…

My kid brother…he didn't make it. He was only two and…he tripped on his shoe laces. Of all the cute little things that children do…I was already dragging my sister on my right shoulder, she took buckshot to the leg. And her infant girl, Millie was in my left arm. I just kept running and running, but Jack, little Jacky…he wasn't there when I turned a corner.

That's why I joined the militia. These dogs must die. I broke my back in training, pulled my weight till my hands bled, ran obstacle courses long after my lungs began to burn, etc. Just like many of the others, I was not deemed to be pilot. With the militia, running Titans are a rarity. Or at least that's what they say.

We raided a defenseless mech center last month; we have the technology to make and upkeep a good number of Titans. But they are right. To be a pilot, you gotta be smart and quick on you feet. Only the best of the best are pilots. And man, are they the best.

I once had a training skirmish with a pilot. She was nimble and flexible, if you know what I mean. Eh? Eh? You don't get it, that's fine. Anyway, I was not at all embarrassed when she beat my ass to the ground with a spin kick. Pilots are really amazing. I mean don't even get me started on their par kour skills.

But they also get all the cool toys. They get the best gear: top shelf guns, grenades, anti-Titan weaponry! Even bloody jetpacks! I want a jetpack man! But no, we get standard issue pea shooters, no grenades, no big guns, no Titans, and no…grr…jetpacks.

It's no secret that we "grunts" have a low life expectancy. In fact, I passed by some pilots the other day to hear them talking about IMC troops.

"How many kills did you get Kat?" That was John, a real legend around this platoon. Then there was Kat, the woman who kicked my ass.

"26," she said with pride.

"Bullshit!" That was Tom, another great pilot, but aren't they all? "No way, you killed 26 pilots! The IMC only drops six pilots at a time."

"Well a lot of them were lower ranked than that…"

"You mean the little grunts? They don't count. They never stand a chance," John said this matter-of-factly. Man that really stings to hear.

"Charlie was killed by "grunts" two weeks ago," Kat used air quotations to mock John and Tom. It's nice to see someone around here cares about the little guys. "Or did you guys already forget about him?"

The men shut their traps at that. I remember Charlie too. He was an Ogre class pilot. His Titan ran off a larger nuclear reactor. Which came in real handy when we raided a fuel depot. We were in the thick of it. We needed the fuel to keep our ships going another day and the IMC knew it. They had that depot locked up tighter than a nun's chastity.

The IMC had four Titans down and we only had two. Our last battle had left the Titans in bad shape. The engineers were working their butts off to get them ready mid-fight. Our two pilots in iron were Kat and Charlie. Kat pilots a Stryder. She was dancing around two IMC Atlases with one of her Titan's arms missing. Let me tell ya, there is nothing sexier than a woman with skill. She completely demolished one Atlas as her Stryder fell apart. She then ejected and finished off the other. That's why we only choose the best of the best.

But Charlie got the short end of the stick. He was fighting an Atlas and another Ogre, both absolutely pissing rockets. But good old Charlie had a backup plan. As his Titan's core began to overload, he dropped his cannon and grabbed at the heads of the two Titans. The IMC pilots couldn't eject and escape like Charlie. And as he went flying high in the sky, the nuclear explosion took out the two IMC pigs.

But a sniper got him in the knee as he descended back to the earth. Next thing we knew, Charlie was behind enemy lines. Injured, low on ammo, and surrounded by a platoon of the IMC ground forces, he didn't last long enough for any of us to make a push to him.

"Hey trooper whatcha doin' there?" I had been standing there, in plain view, reminiscing that sad day. I looked up to see Kat looking to me.

"I uuh…I-I heard what you were talking about…I was just thinking about Charlie…" Man I'm bad with chicks. Not that it even matters. Kat wouldn't be interested in a guy who isn't smart or fast enough to pilot. Maybe she doesn't even care about relationships at all. She's pretty committed to the cause, y'know.

"Yeah, we all miss him…But he's not the only one. And he probably won't be the last."

This was kind of awkward. It was just Kat and I. The two other pilots "had more important things to do than talk to grunts". And there she was, this rather pretty woman, here in front of me. Paying attention to me.

"How many have you lost…in the platoon?" She made awkward conversation with me.

"Uuh…more than I care to count…"

Kat just looked down with a sad look. She's the only one that understands. We all have a part to play. Us grunts are important on the battlefield as well. We keep spectres off the pilots. That's what our main goal usually is. The spectres are the robots that carry anti-Titan weaponry with them. They're trusted with it more than we are because they have better aim. Kat knows this. Most of the time the pilots can take care of themselves, but having that tiny little bit of backup can turn the tide in a fight.

"Hey do you want to get a drink sometime?" Oh my god. Why the hell did I just say that?! Geeze, I'm about to get my lights knocked out or something. I'm such a bafoon!

Kat looked up at me. She stared into my eyes, into my very soul…and she busted out laughing. Hysterically giggling. Kat had a reputation you know. It's been like a thousand years since the civil rights movement, but still women got a bit of discrimination in the military. She was the only female pilot around and she wouldn't let anyone forget it. Not that I would want to.

"You got balls of steel man," she said, still giggling at my shout-first-think-later mouth. She finally composed herself after my face turned into a tomato. She looked into my eyes again and the awkward silence made we want to gain a brighter shade of red.

"I'll take you up on that." I let out a huge breath I didn't even know I was holding and she giggled some more. But she actually said 'yes'! I mean seriously, she is so out of my league…I just…I don't even. I think I want to jump for joy like a little boy after his first kiss.

Then the sirens went off. We had made it to our next destination.

[All troops; Gear up; Battle stations] The automated voice came ringing through the ship. Kat was already off.

"I'll see you after the battle." She called back to me.

There's no time to get worked up and all cocky for my feat. I ran to my station and suited up, but I couldn't help to keep a smug grin on my face.

"Hey what's up with you?" One of my squad mates punched me in the shoulder. "You got one of those shit-eating smiles."

"Haha Terry, very funny. But I'll have you know I just got a date tonight."

"With who Carson?" Terry laughed at his "so hilarious" gay joke.

"You wish Terry. You wish. It was Sergeant Wales actually."

Terry, Carson and Mike all just stopped. Literally, they just froze with their mouths agape.

"You're shitting us, right?" No one could believe it. Hell, I can barely believe it!

"Kat, THE ball buster, asked YOU out?" Terry looked like he had just seen the end of the war.

"No, I did."

"And, once again, the ball buster Sergeant Kathrine Wales, said 'yes'?!" Mike was just as astonished.

This time I simply nodded my head and continued to gear up.

"Dude, can I borrow your 50 pound brass balls sometime?" Just like Carson to always lighten the mood.

We finished gearing up and stepped into our drop pod. Now this was my favorite part about being in the militia. The pilots may get all the toys, but we get a nice view before a fight. The pilots usually get jumped to the surface in a drop ship, but we drop from orbit.

That's right. Just four guys hurling down to a planet's surface in a metal box. We buckle up and hear the gears working to let us go. I feel my stomach leap into my throat and we're off. I look out the window on our pod door. The site…it's beautiful.

There's the blinding light of a star and the blackness that surrounds it. A contrast made in heaven as it is certainly beautiful. The window's sun blocking kicks in and I can see the details of that fire ball. It now looks black with a living web of orange-red dancing across its surface. It's ominous, yet calming to the eye. Space really is a wonderful thing.

Then there's the planet we're careening towards. Right now, I can see vast oceans of crystal blue. Reminds me of Earth. But all too soon we enter the atmosphere. The bright orange of gases burning around us crawls up the window like streamers flowing in the wind. Man, everything just seems to be beautiful right now. I think I've forgotten what's it's like to be happy and giddy. Maybe Kat has too.

The blast shield closes over the window, sealing us in the dark space of our pod. Any second now the back thrusters will kick on. They do, giving us that sense of weightlessness for but a moment. Then the pod begins to fall again, at a much slower rate, but we're still flying to the ground.

"You ready for this boys?!" Mike was making his usual rounds and we did the same.

"I am green and very, VERY MEAN!" Carson always says that. It's a good phrase, gets us pumped up.

"IMC won't know what hit 'em!" Terry, cocky as ever.

I'm always last to speak. And I hold my tongue until we touch down. The butt bruising jolt of landing comes and the harnesses snap off. We all stand in unison and face the door as it comes down.

"LET'S KICK SOME ASS!"

I start to dash forward into the blinding light as my eyes try to adjust. Nothing new there. But I stop. I don't why but I do. I think I heard some sort of explosion or shot and I was dead in my tracks.

"NNNNNOOOOOOOOOO!" Someone screamed in agony.

I lost feeling in my legs and fell back into Mike. What's happening? My sight flops to see Mike staring down at me. Then his sad eyes explode in a shower of crimson. All sound was washing over my ears in deaf tones. And my vision was growing dark. I felt the weight of others falling against me as I caught a glimpse of an IMC pilot wielding a shot gun.

They ran off, leaving me and my squad to die. I never registered the feeling of the buckshot in my chest. I guess I'm thankful for that. I felt my life drain out of me with every drop of blood. I feel the need to sleep come over me like a warm and inviting blanket. My eyes grow heavy and all I can think about it Kat. She's going to be so disappointed.

But no one comes to save me. For I am…was…just a grunt.

**Think about the brave grunts the next time you wait outside their pod xD**

**Poor grunts man. Grunt life be hard life, right?**

**I hope I got the genre correct, there's comedy and satire at the end and it's all wrapped up in tragedy.**

**Let me know what you guys/gals/walruses thought.**

**Stay Frosty,**

**B**


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